


These Violent Delights

by EMILYLAWLESS



Series: Violent Delights [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Murder Kink, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14079480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EMILYLAWLESS/pseuds/EMILYLAWLESS
Summary: “I’m glad he’s gone,” he confesses, looking around before resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.“Me too baby, me too,” Steve kisses the top of his head. They stand there for a while, watching the sun glitter across the water.Steve murders Billy's dad in cold blood. It should break their relationship. It only makes it stronger.





	These Violent Delights

**Author's Note:**

> @quodpersortem you're the best.
> 
> Inspired by Natural Born Killers/Badlands/Thelma and Louise.
> 
> Violent, sexual Americana. If you don't like the sound of that, don't read it.

Curled up against the headboard of the bed, Billy looks younger than his eighteen years would have Steve believe. His blue eyes are vacant, staring straight ahead and through the dirty floral wallpaper of the pay-by-the-hour room like he’s watching something happen outside. Underneath the blanket he’s completely naked, vulnerable. Steve watches him breathe slow and steady, he doesn’t look like he’s panicking, he just isn’t _there_.

He leans over and gently strokes Billy’s hair, “He’s not gonna hurt you again baby.”

It takes Billy a moment to drag his gaze away from the cigarette stains that are stamped all over the wall. Steve hears him suck air into his lungs as their eyes meet, sees his eyes watering in the corners, waits for the tears to start falling.

“You—you killed him. He’s dead. You killed my dad.”

“I did,” Steve looks at the bloodied corpse on the floor, “I did it for you, for us. We don’t have to hide anymo—“

Billy pushes up off the bed, stands tall and says, “You killed him—my dad—he’s...dead.”

Steve sighs, leans back against the headboard and watches Billy as he paces around the room. All of his brutish nature is dulled, he twitches nervously as he walks, rubs at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I killed him. Don’t tell me he didn’t deserve it, don’t tell me you haven’t dreamed of doing it a thousand times.” Steve stretches out a little, feeling his bones crack and his muscles creak like a rusty door hinge.

“I—I hated him. I hated him so fucking much. But you killed him,” Billy says blankly.

On the bed, Steve is comfortably naked with blood wet and sticky on his chest. It’s almost like he’s not lying in the same room as a dead body, like he didn’t just beat Neil Hargrove’s brains in and spill them all over the carpet.

“I killed him,” he affirms, lighting one of Billy’s cigarettes, “I killed him and now he’s dead.”

“Now he’s dead,” Billy repeats like a child. He stops pacing, stands over the dead body of his father and gets a real good look. Steve watches it all sink in.

“ _Dead_ ,” Billy says again as he sits on the bed.

With the lit cigarette dangling out of his mouth and spilling ash on the sheets, Steve moves to sit next to him. He takes the cigarette from his lips and pushes it to Billy’s, making him take a drag. Billy pulls too fast, too deep, he coughs a little around the smoke.

“That’s right baby, dead and gone.” Steve wraps an arm around Billy’s shoulders and pulls him close with a tight grip. Billy relaxes into him, holds on to Steve’s shoulder and digs his nails in, lets the reality of the situation wash over them both. The tears don’t fall.

“Thank you,” he says on an exhale. Steve just holds him tighter, “You don’t have to thank me, I’m just sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

They sit like that for a while, huddled up naked on the edge of the bed, blowing smoke over the body that lies prone on the floor.

“We have to clean this up,” Billy says after a moment, “how do we clean this up?”

He turns to Steve who looks nonchalant with a little smile playing on his lips. “We don’t,” he says confidently, burying his face in Billy’s neck and nipping with his teeth.

“What do you mean we don’t?” Billy pulls back, looking confused.

“We don’t clean it up,” Steve declares, then repeats, “we don’t clean it up,” as he stands up and moves to the window. The curtains are thick and moth-eaten, like they were put up when the motel first opened and haven’t been taken down since. He twitches them slightly, letting in a small strip of artificial light. Outside the room all is quiet, not a single person in sight, just an occasional car driving past the motel, past the Burger King and on to somewhere better. In the parking lot, he spots Neil’s station wagon.

“Steve, what the fuck are you talking about? We gotta clean it up. It’s--it’s fucking murder!” Billy snaps but Steve doesn’t pay any attention to his tone, knows he’s just processing.

He lets the curtains fall back into place, positive that nobody saw Neil arrive an hour ago. As for any potential neighbours overhearing the commotion, he’s thankful that his fear of being caught with another man had pushed him to book out three rooms next to each other with them occupying the middle.

“Let him rot,” Steve says, leaning up against the wall next to the door, feeling the chill from outside on his bare back. Billy shakes his head in disbelief, like he can’t believe Steve would say something so callous. He watches as Billy flexes his fingers, notices the frustration taking over. He’s pissed off, Steve can tell and it makes him smile, makes him bite his tongue in his mouth to stop him from pouncing. He loves it when Billy gets heated, loves how he locks his shoulders and gets all red in the face when he’s about to punch someone.

“So, let me get this straight—you beat my dad to death with a lamp and then you decide we’re just gonna leave the body here, am I right?”

“Fuck him,” Steve baits him and Billy’s on him in an instant, hands pinning his wrists to the wall, naked bodies flush against each other.

“Fuck him—yeah. And fuck you too. You wanna murder my dad and leave me to clean up the shit? That’s not how _this_ works,” Billy snarls a little, mouth so close that Steve can taste the drag of Marlboro he’d had. He can’t help the effect that Billy has on him, can’t stop his dick from getting just a little hard when he gets angry. The intoxicating hit of violence and lust swims through him, makes him feel strung out like an addict.

“We’ll clean it up then,” Steve bends, because sometimes it feels good to give in and let Billy win. Billy’s grinding his teeth when he lets go of Steve’s wrists, and Steve thinks he really must be a sick fuck because there’s a dead body on the floor, he’s covered in blood and all he wants is Billy to fuck him into the dirty carpet. He wants strong weight on top of him, pushing him down, bending him, making him feel _something_.

“What do we do?” Billy asks, pushing his hair out his eyes, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

“I don’t know,” Steve admits, because he doesn’t have a clue. He’s never killed a human being before, never smashed a lamp down on someone’s skull so hard that he could hear the veins pop.

“ _Think_ , for fucks sake. What if someone heard us? What if someone heard him screaming?” Billy’s starting to panic again, eyes darting around the room, breathing fast.

Moving towards him, Steve reaches out and puts both hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t squeeze, just rests them there, pulling Billy back into the moment and out of his own head. His hands are a hot knife and Billy’s muscles like butter, they soften underneath his touch.

“Nobody heard us,” Steve reassures him, feeling hot all over, wanting Billy to touch him and not really knowing why because they should both be panicking but he’s not. It’s a funny sort of calm, like he’s found peace in stubbing out a human life like a cigarette. “Nobody’s knocked. There’s not a single person out there, it’s okay, I promise, it’s gonna be _okay_.”

 

* * *

 

They bundle the body up in bin liners that Steve buys from the 24-hour Kroger just off the highway. Thick plastic made for garden waste wraps around Neil Hargrove’s corpse like a tragic blanket. By the time they’re done the sky is purple, just hinting at daylight. Steve parked directly outside the room so they didn’t have to lug the body too far. Whilst Billy’s dad wasn’t a particularly large man, both of them were surprised at the heavy, dead weight.

Checking if the coast is clear, Steve opens the door of the motel room and picks up the heavy plastic of Neil’s legs. They shuffle quickly to the car, opening up the trunk and folding the body in. When Steve slams the door closed, he hops up on the car and smiles at Billy.

“Got a smoke?” he asks, holding onto the aluminium and letting his legs hang. Billy obliges him, like he always does, shaking a cigarette out of the pack.

Steve takes it. Lights it. Feels the smoke hit the back of his throat and blows it up to the sky. He wonders how the crickets can make so much noise but stay completely unseen.

“What do we do now?” Billy asks, kicking at gravel under his feet.

Steve shrugs his shoulders. “Drive, I guess?”

 

* * *

 

Just off of Route 145, Neil Hargrove’s body is dragged out of the trunk of Steve’s car and rolled into the lake that turns to a river a way down the road.

Billy watches as the bricks pull him to the bottom of murky brown water to be pecked at by sea monsters. He doesn’t feel sad, doesn’t feel relieved either. But then Steve’s grabbing at his hand, rubbing little circles into his palm and he feels an odd sense of calm.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” he confesses, looking around before resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Me too baby, me too,” Steve kisses the top of his head. They stand there for a while, watching the sun glitter across the water.

“Let’s go,” Billy says after a while. Steve follows him without hesitation.

In the car, Steve turns on the radio, puts it up real loud and sings along to a pop song. He’s got the window open, crisp spring air blows back his hair. On his chest, a white t-shirt is pulled tight over his muscles with sleeves rolled up over his biceps. Billy thinks that he should have a packet of cigarettes under the folds of cotton. Then Steve would look like a real movie star, like a long haired Marlon Brando.

“You okay baby?” Steve asks after a few miles of nothing but radio.

Billy bites his lip and says, “Just thinking about what we do next.”

Steve laughs a little, turns down the radio and puts a strong hand on Billy’s thigh, asks, “Where d’ya wanna go?”

Tall fields of corn fly past the window and Billy thinks that if he didn’t know the world was round he’d definitely be afraid of falling off the edge of the horizon.

“That what we’re doing? Running away?” he bites back, trying to ignore how good Steve’s hand feels on his blue jeans. Against his own judgement, he spreads his legs a little, letting Steve get a better grip.

“We’re getting out of Indiana,” Steve confirms, then adds, “there’s nothing here for us baby, we gotta go somewhere better.”

Being with Steve feels a lot like falling off the edge of the world and straight into the unknown. He wonders if Steve’s still got the blood splatters on his chest or whether he wiped them away when he got dressed. Chances are his dads blood is still painted up and down Steve’s torso. He ignores the thrill it gives him to imagine it, pushes it to the back of his mind with the images of Steve wild, naked, bludgeoning his dad to death.

“I don’t know if there is anywhere better,” he says, looking over at Steve who looks far too relaxed for a man who just dumped Neil’s body in a lake.

“There’s gotta be, even if it’s just a little bit good, a little bit like—like heaven,” Steve’s all wide eyed and wild, like a rabid preacher at the pulpit.

“Okay baby, whatever you say.” He can’t bring himself to argue with Steve when he’s all hyped up and on a tangent.

The hand on his thigh squeezes gently, Billy lets out a sigh and slumps into the seat, lets Steve’s hand creep up further.

“Gonna show you, I promise, you’re gonna see.”

Steve speaks so sincerely it’s hard _not_ to believe him.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re still wet,” Steve says matter of factly. He’s got the car seat pushed back and Billy on top of him, naked from the waist down.

“I didn’t shower,” Billy sighs as Steve pushes a finger inside him.

“Of course you didn’t,” Steve sounds thankful as he angles his finger, fucks Billy with it gently.

“God fucking _damn_ ,” he moans, pulling off his t-shirt and revelling in Steve’s appreciation— _gorgeous_.

He’s hard, has been ever since Steve edged his hand up higher on his thighs whilst they drove. He pushes down on the finger with a desperate need to feel more inside of him. He’s been frustrated ever since they’d been interrupted mid-fuck by his dad, ever since Steve had slipped out of him, grabbed hold of the lamp and hammered it down over and over again on Neil’s skull.

“I’m wet,” he confirms, leaning in to Steve’s mouth and licking at his teeth, “so fuck me.”

With the kind of quick, calculated movements that can only come from months of cramped, rushed sex, Steve unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down, pulls out his own dick.

“You want it?” he teases, rubbing the head against the leftover lube between Billy’s legs.

“You know I fucking want it, stop talking and fuck me,” Billy doesn’t beg, he never begs. He just slides his body down onto Steve’s dick, lets his mouth fall open, takes every inch with pride.

They don’t last long. Both of them amped up on lust, on the thrill of sending Billy’s dad to a watery grave. The windows of Steve’s car fog up a little, it makes Billy want to lean over and write their initials in the condensation. It’s childish, possessive--he does it anyway. Steve looks at the letters and the love heart that frames them, he laughs and then he grabs a hold of Billy’s muscled hip and guides him down further.

“Feel good?” he asks. It’s a stupid question because Billy’s mouth is gaping wide and he’s panting.

“Shutup,” Billy grits out when he slides up and then down. Steve throws his head back against the headrest, watches Billy work him over good. Hands hold on to the chair on either side of his face, he can see the moisture starting to develop on Billy’s thick arms. He thinks about how they hated each other when they first met, how they used to push and pull at each other and cover their bodies in bruises. And now he’s killed for the man on top of him, the man who’s seen his true self--naked and covered with blood--and decided he wants more.

“You don’t really want me to shut up,” he says because he knows how to really get Billy off and it’s not by being quiet. When Billy leans forward a little, pouting his lips for a kiss, Steve doesn’t deny him.

“You keep talking, you’re gonna—” a deep moan escapes him as he angles his body to hit the jackpot, “you’re gonna, _fuck_!”

“I’m gonna what? Tell me what I’m gonna do,” he commands, “say it, use that pretty mouth. I wanna hear you baby--Billy. Tell me how good it feels when I’m fucking you like this--you take it so well baby.”

He lurches forward, gets his mouth on the soft skin of Billy’s neck and sucks hard. Then he propels his hips upwards, chasing Billy’s orgasm like a greyhound on a racing track trying to catch a rabbit. He wants it bad, wants to sink his teeth in to Billy’s neck and watch him drip cum onto the white t-shirt, turning it translucent so he can see the blood that still stains his chest. As he drives himself deeper he can see the rabbit right in front of his eyes, can feel the hunger pulsing in his blood. He goes hard, relentless thrusts that force all those wild noises out of Billy’s mouth.

“I’m gonna cum,” Billy almost howls, hands bunching in the fabric of Steve’s t-shirt, holding on for dear life.

He doesn’t sink his teeth in, just leans back and watches as Billy manages to soak through the cotton without being touched. He feels the heat suck him in deeper, Billy’s entire body shuddering around his dick. And then he lets go, grabs the furry flesh of the rabbit between his teeth and tears it apart. Everything gets wetter, his cum spilling from between Billy’s legs and down his own dick as he continues to pound into him selfishly. When he’s done, Billy pulls himself off and moves over to the passenger seat, fumbling around in the glove compartment.

“You good?” Steve asks him like he’s got a habit for stupid questions.

“Better than good,” Billy confirms, putting both feet up on the dashboard and sparking a flame. He offers the pack to Steve, who shakes his head no.

“Suit yourself,” he says, lips wrapped around the filter.

The silence between them is easy. Steve watches Billy smoke, watches the cherry burning bright in the darkness of the car. His dick is still wet from the cum and lube, he starts to feel a little cold. When he watches the cigarette crackle and pop he wonders if Billy would warm him up with the burning end if he asked him to. He gets a sudden, intense craving to watch Billy leave singed love notes on his skin.

“We gonna do this again?” he asks when Billy cracks the window and flicks the end out.

“What—fuck? I sure as hell hope so,” Billy replies playfully, peeling his own top from the floor and pulling it on.

“Not talking about _fucking_ ,” Steve shuffles a little uncomfortably, flexing his fingers and making a fist.

Billy looks confused for a moment before fully understanding the question. _This_. The murder, the blood, the wild thrill of it all, the frantic fucking in the front seat of Steve’s car on the side of an empty highway in the middle of the night.

He raises his eyebrows at Steve, small smile just about breaking through.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and leans over, kissing him softly, “we’re gonna do this again.”


End file.
